A boy and a woman are in a room. There are plants everywhere for decoration, more than necessary, and a chair which has a therapist sitting within it and a couch with a boy sitting on it. In front of the boy there is a box of facial tissues on a coffee table.
Therapist: Alright let’s start off with introductions, I’m Melissa George, but you can either call me Ms. George or you can call me Melissa. Whichever you feel comfortable with. And yourself?
Boy: People just call me JT.
Therapist: How old are you JT?
Therapist: So you’re in high school then?
Boy: Yeah, I’m a senior.
Therapist: How is that?
Boy: Overrated. Look, I understand that you’re paid to do this, but honestly I feel like this is getting nowhere. Can I just go?
Therapist: These meetings will only go as far as you are willing to take them. Just tell me what is on your mind right now.
Chills run down JT’s back as he flashes back mentally to the noise of the adults in the house yelling and seeing an open wound on his mother’s head. Police sirens flood his psyche and mixed emotions coupled with the image of seeing his father being taken away in a cop car.